Mrs. Rosamond went up in a big lift, not to the surface as she expected, but found herself landed in a broad asphalted, bewildering subway lined with white bricks. Brilliantly lighted white passages seemed to stretch away in all directions, full of people tearing about here, there, and everywhere in the utmost confusion, some ascending steps that appeared to lead to the daylight, others descending slopes that ended in more brick-lined passages. At once she recalled her host’s injunction “to hit the right subway” for the Islington Tube Line, but becoming a trifle excited and confused, she went up the staircase that looked the shortest, and found herself in Cornhill, along which she strayed a short distance, and came to St. Michael’s, when she thought she had reached the station, because she had been told it was underneath a church. But there was no City and South London Railway, and her host had omitted to say that the subway between it and the Bank was contemplated only. So Lilian asked her way, and quickly found what she was seeking close by at the corner of Lombard Street and King William Street. And now, growing confident by experience, and perceiving that the booking-office and general arrangements resembled those of the Two-penny Tube, though on a smaller scale, she went to the booking-office window and tendered twopence. The clerk politely inquired, “All the way, miss?” and on her replying in the affirmative, demanded, and received, fourpence, giving her an ordinary ticket in return. She thought this strange, being different from the Tube system, the more so when she saw no glass box wherein to drop it. But there was the lift, and so she descended. Alas! when she got to the bottom, she forgot to make inquiries, being absorbed in meditation about her husband. “What was he doing at that particular hour?” she wondered. “Had he gone out fishing? Was he making the rounds of his farm, and looking after his pet livestock, the pigs?” A train came up, and without giving the matter a second thought, she got into it, and found the cars pretty nearly empty. They were narrow and low, and the atmosphere was close. Away they sped, by London Bridge, the Borough, the “Elephant and Castle,” Kennington Park Road, the Oval, and Stockwell, but the guard did not call out the names of these stations, and only when the terminus was reached did Lilian rouse herself from her reverie, and stepping out of the station after giving up her ticket, gazed aghast, not at the “Angel,” Islington, which she knew was a locality nearly all bricks and mortar, but upon a large open space--Clapham Common! In fact, the poor _voyageuse_ had gone down the wrong lift at the Bank Station, and had failed to notice the names of the stations as she came along.